


Corruption Lies In Your Heart.

by AntsySerpentine



Series: Ruin: The Rise of Abaddon [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Childhood Abuse, Memory flashbacks, Other, mentions of abuse, themes of trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:33:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23977513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntsySerpentine/pseuds/AntsySerpentine
Summary: The Sith are strong within their use and manipulation of emotions, even their own.Ruin struggles with controlling their seemingly boundless rage.
Series: Ruin: The Rise of Abaddon [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1728760
Kudos: 2





	Corruption Lies In Your Heart.

_‘ When was the last time you’ve felt anything but rage, my dear apprentice?’_

The voice of their master echoed in their mind. Funny that of all times for them to reflect, it seemed to pop up in the back of their mind when they found themselves alone. They think too often in the past, but it was all that existed in the long stretches of time when they were isolated, working solo.

It was how it was meant to be, after all, right?

Mortem was always good to them. In fact, the only superior that seemed to treat the Zabrak with any shred of dignity.

Perhaps that’s why her lessons stuck with Ruin for so long. Why she remains to be an active influence on their actions, their train of thought. She always stressed the importance of settling scores, even if they were petty ones. 

_‘A Sith with unfinished business ought not to be called a Sith at all if they don’t intend to wrap up their loose ends. Promise me you’ll never leave unfinished business to sit for too long.’_

Loose ends. They still had some to finish burning. Names that needed to be crossed out, lives to be snuffed out.

They remember every name, every face of those that wronged them. Each and every one of them met their end at their hands, all in morbidly ironic ways that reflected the wounds they inflicted on the young Sith.

Never, would they ever forget the pure feeling of satisfaction and glee in tearing their oppressors limb from limb. The cries of the forsaken, music to their ears as they enacted the revenge they felt they deserved to be given. 

The release they got was immense, their only solace, the only peace they ever received was to revere in the suffering that the Zabrak dealt out, often in a vastly overbearing amount.

In that pursuit of gratification, Ruin left a trail of destruction in their wake. Not only would their main object of hatred suffer, but anyone unfortunate enough to be caught on the sidelines in association. 

Passion. Rage. Hatred.

Always blinding in the heat of the moment. They know when they start to lose themselves to it, but never do they try to fight against it. It starts with hatred pumping through their veins, with every nerve igniting and alert, the tightness that threatens to choke them. The point of no return begins when the red haze overtakes their line of sight. 

They never remember anything that happens. They can’t remember what they’re doing, they never remember when, what or how things are done, said or exchanged. 

All that Ruin ever remembers in the end is the carnage, the blood staining their skin, their cloak, bringing the true definition of their name to light.

Ruin.

All they ever bring to their enemies is Ruin. 

Anything in their way will give to Ruin.

In the end, everything is bound to fall to Ruin.

Ruin. Devastation. Destruction. Pure and unadulterated. 

_‘ ‘Ruin’. Fitting for a Zabrak. Even more so for a Sith.’_

A bitter metallic tang seemed to follow them wherever they went. It clung to them the way their robes sat snug on their body, engulfing them entirely, but not so much that they were unrecognizable in it.

It wasn’t a surprise that the urge to kill, the itch to turn to violent means has been growing steadily more and more over the years. So much that even minor slights, small issues, petty squabbles found their resolution in it. 

When did revenge come to this? 

Of course, it was a learned pattern. They watched their Master operate in the same ways, with those she had seemed inferior. With other Sith, with Jedi, and anyone and everyone in between. But despite that all, she retained an elegance within it.

Ruin was always more unfiltered, much more raw in their hatred, more primal and urgent in their rage. They lacked the control, the restraint to keep themselves in line that their Master had controlled to perfection.

Emotions were something utilized as a tool, as a weapon, a way to have control. 

Control.

Something Ruin always lacked, no matter what situation they found themselves in, they were never the ones in control.

* * *

The threads of the flog tore into the child’s back, the bite like that of a thousand blades slicing into them.

Again and again and again the blows fell.

Each and every strike shoved the air out of their lungs. There was no breath to cry, no way to make a noise, but they could hear the strangling of their own voice. 

Screaming. All they could remember past the pain was screaming. 

It burned. It screamed. It raged. 

They never remembered when it ended. 

* * *

A hand curled around the throat of an apprentice tightened, while Ruin’s free hand clenched a stone.

Screaming. They remember screaming, cries that didn’t belong to them following the impacts of Ruin’s tool of bludgeoning. They remember the desperation, the panic that flooded the body of the apprentice, the pleading, the fear that tainted the air and rendered all onlookers into stone.

The steady staccato of bones cracking under the force of their blows.

_Crack._

_Crack._

_Crack._

_S q u e l c h ._

**_THUD._ **

* * *

It was their last trial. The final stage of success before being assigned to a Master.

They already had survived the rest of them. Why this one Master in particular required three fights was perhaps to test efficiency, perhaps to test whether or not the apprentice-to-be had the capabilities to kill over and over and over again.

Perhaps it was just to show a boast of brutality.

Either way, Ruin spent very little time in making a show of their power, their prowess, everything that they had to offer in terms of strength, wit and efficiency.

Life or death. They had to fight for the right to survive. Murder in order to keep pushing forward. They needed to survive. They were nothing to the Sith if they didn’t come out on the top.

Ruin remembered feeding off of the emotions of their opponent, they remembered working them into a hold from which there was no escape. They could feel everything as their own senses heightened. The adrenaline that kicked in, the following wrath they rained down on the other.

It started with saber combat, devolved into hand to hand combat, where both held their own for a while. Then came the dirty fighting. Desperate, ravenous, like wild animals competing for dominance. This was the only one Ruin struggled against for the sheer strength that the other hand.

They remembered when they started losing the upper hand, the initial panic that started to creep in, seeds of doubt within their own abilities.

The last thing that they could clearly remember was charging, a war cry that resonated through their body as though the gods from above manifested their rage through the Zabrak. 

When they came to, there was nothing left of their enemy. Bits and pieces of flesh were strewn about as though eviscerated by a wild, starving animal. Blood soaked into the ground, dripping down their arms, drenching the robes that they wore. 

Blood, It was all that they could smell. The pungent metallic tang assaulting their nostrils, poisoning the very air they breathe.

Blood, all that they could feel, heavy and sticky against their skin, pulling down at their clothes as though being dragged into Hell.

Blood, it was all that they could taste and they couldn’t get enough of it.

* * *

Control. It was something they pursued, but could never fully achieve.

Control. It was within arm’s reach, almost within their grasp, but just far enough that any moves toward it would make everything come apart. No matter what they did, it always managed to slip away from them at the last second.

Control. Their Master promised it. Their Master promised that they would finally have control. Their Master promised that she would help them take back the control that was so rightfully theirs.

She promised. Darth Mortem never broke her promises to Ruin.

* * *

_‘When was the last time you’ve felt anything but rage, my dear apprentice? ’_

_‘The last time I remember feeling anything aside from rage was when you told me I was the only one of your apprentices that managed to impress you.’_


End file.
